Kushiel's Avatar (Page 90)
“Yes, my lord Pharaoh.” I sat straight under his considering gaze.
“You could have done that,” he said.
“I could, my lord. But I have an obligation to the women of the zenana. I was entrusted with seeing them restored to Menekhet, and securing your cooperation. I could not leave without doing it.”
The fans moved in broad sweeps, stirring the sultry air. Ptolemy Dikaios rested his chin on his fist and stared at me. “You're an odd woman, Phèdre nó Delaunay; beautiful, but odd. For whom is the third letter?”
My mouth had gone dry. “Melisande Shahrizai de la Courcel.”
He gave a short bark of laughter.
“My lord,” I said. “This I do not ask, but leave to your discretion. Whether or not your communications with her have continued, I do not know, and do not inquire. If they have not. . .” I shrugged, placing the letters on the low table between us. “Consign it to the flames. If they have . . . whatever else she may be, she is a mother, my lord Phar aoh, sore grieved for the loss of her son. She has the right to know he lives.”
Pharaoh picked up the letters and studied them, bejeweled rings glinting on every finger of his hands. “Very beautiful, and very odd. You take a risk in coming to me alone, my lady.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “However, my lord, if I have not returned by sundown, my companions will claim asylum of Ambassador de Penfars.”
His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Embassies are vulnerable.”
“Let me guess.” Pharaoh tapped two fingers on the thick parchment envelopes. “There are letters already awaiting delivery.”
I nodded. “As it happens, my lord, there are.”
He laughed and tossed the letters on the table. “Ah, Lady Phèdre! You entertain me; you entertain me greatly. So be it. I give you two days. On the third, I will announce the receipt of great news, and your Menekhetan refugees will be received with much fanfare. Your letters shall be sent accordingly to the Ambassador and to Tyre, and I shall tender my profoundest apologies for my ignorance of your duplicity. I sincerely hope, my lady, that by that time, you are well on your way upriver.”
“We will be.” I knelt and made a heartfelt obeisance. “Thank you, my lord Pharaoh.”
Ptolemy Dikaios waved a jeweled hand. “Go, and be gone.”
SIXTY-FIVE
OVER THE next two days our arrangements were made, with Nesmut's aid and Kaneka's supervision. We would travel by felucca, the swift, shallow sailing-boats, up the river as far as Majibara, the great caravanserai that marked the end of Menekhet and the border of Jebe-Barkal itself. There our company—seven, all told—would part ways, for two of the women were bound for the western province of Nubia, while the rest of us would strike south across the desert.Thanks to the Lugal's generosity, we had no lack of funding. On Kaneka's advice, we converted a number of gifts into “trader's coin,” heavy chains of soft yellow gold to be paid out link by link. These were given unto Joscelin's keeping, and he wore them about his neck, hidden beneath his clothing.
We spent lightly on supplies in Iskandria, for Kaneka assured us that everything could be had cheaper in Majibara and provisions were ample along the river. We purchased tents of oiled silk, rolled straw sleeping-pallets and a few cook-pots. I bought a broad-brimmed hat to shade my head, and a burnoose of white cotton; for the rest, I still had my Akkadian garb and the celadon riding attire Favrielle nó Eglantine had fashioned for me, which suited the climate well. The other, that I'd worn in Drujan, was long discarded.
New clothing, then, and little more. It might almost have been a pleasure-cruise. We all dined together on our last night in Iskandria, Nesmut included. He regarded Imriel with a certain envy, for having been at the center of great events and embarking on a grand adventure. 'Twas strange, seeing them together. For all that Nesmut was the elder, he seemed the younger of the two, high-spirited and merry.
As before, it made me think of Hyacinthe. Was he like me? Imriel had asked, When he was a boy? Not much, I had said; 'twas true, when he was a boy. Now … I saw the shadows in Imri's eyes, the memory of pain and the burden of his heredity, the hunger that surfaced as he watched Nesmut laugh, eating and drinking with a will, happy in his status. And I remembered Hyacinthe's terrible smile and how alone he had been, how profoundly alone.
Truth be told, I was glad Imriel was here.
After we dined, we said our farewells, for we would be off with the dawn.
“I am sorry,” I said to Khepri, who was the one I knew best among the Menekhetans, “that it had to be thus. You should have entered the city in procession. It is your right.”
She smiled, taking my hand. “Tomorrow is soon enough. We would not be here, were it not for you, and I do not need processions anyway. Peace is all I ask. You have given us that. I hope you find what you need.”
“Thank you.” I squeezed her hand. “I hope so, too.”
Our time together was ended, our numbers dwindling.
In accordance with our plan, we left at sunrise. It is a thing to behold, sunrise upon the delta of the mighty Nahar. Kaneka spoke truly; of all rivers, it is the greatest. In Iskandria, 'tis scarce to be discerned as a river, but an unending series of canals and waterways, placid and calm, winding through a vast expanse of green.
We boarded in the soft hush of dawn, the air still balmy. There were two feluccas, each manned by a single Jebean. Our goods were loaded in short order and we found space aboard the vessels—Joscelin, Imriel, Kaneka and I aboard one, and Safiya and the two Nubians aboard the other. Our erstwhile captain raised a finger to test the breeze, then raised a crude stone anchor.
As the slanting rays of the early sun turned the brown waters of the delta to shimmering bronze, we were on our way.
In truth, the first leg of our journey to Jebe-Barkal was nearly a pleasure-cruise. Our feluccas with their lateen-rigged sails tacked back and forth across the sluggish waters, the sailors calling merrily to one another in Jeb'ez. The vegetation was thick and lush, tall papyrus growing along the waterways. Egrets and herons and sacred ibis picked their way along the shores, pausing statuesque to eye us as we passed, long- billed heads poised atop impossibly long necks. A gentle breeze blew at our backs and I felt, for the first time in many months, a touch of my old excitement at beginning a new journey.
To the south of the city some hours later, the myriad waterways gradually converged and the delta gave way to the river proper, broad and stately, flowing between green banks. All manner of traffic travelled the river, from rowboats and fishing vessels to galleys and ox-drawn barges. None travelled so swiftly as the light feluccas, stitching back and forth, triangular sails canted to catch the wind.
All along the riverbanks were villages, interspersed with plantations of wheat and sugarcane, lines of palm trees and tamarisk. We saw caravans, sometimes—camels and donkeys, strung in long processions along the banks. When I realized the speed with which our swift craft left them behind, I was glad I had heeded Kaneka's advice.
For a time, I was apprehensive and craned my neck to look behind us, fearing the Pharaoh would break his word and some pursuit would be forthcoming. It seemed, however, that none was, and after a while, I ceased to worry about it. If it came, it came; there was naught I could do about it.
To my sorrow, we would be unable to see some of the mightiest structures of Menekhet from the river, the Great Tombs of the ancients. Our captain generously offered to halt and guide us overland—for an additional fee, of course—but I deemed it wisest to remain on course, and Kaneka assured me that the temples further upriver would more than compensate.
We made camp that first night near a pleasant village, trading with the villagers for our dinner, roasting chickens which we ate with our fingers, accompanied by melons and sweet dates. The night was velvety- soft, spangled with stars.
“I have to admit,” Joscelin said drowsily, lounging before the fire. “This doesn't seem so bad.”
“No.” I sat cross-legged, combing knots out of Imriel's hair while he gritted his teeth at the pain. “Truly, it doesn't.”
The days of that journey blend together in memory, distinguished only by the sights that marked our route. Our first hippopotamus, rising like a colossus from the river, water running in streams down its dark hide; the vast gape of its pink mouth, teeth like yellow pegs. Imriel leapt to his feet, shouting and pointing. Kaneka and the other Jebeans merely laughed. Afterward, we saw many of the creatures, placid and harmless so long as they were undisturbed. More dangerous were the crocodiles, of which there were an abundance. Dark-green and pebbled, they lurked like submerged logs, only the slitted reptilian eyes giving the lie to the illusion. Kaneka assured us that they move with great rapidity on dry land, and we were ever wary about venturing to the water's edge when we made camp.
There is a temple along the way dedicated to Sebek, the Menekhetan crocodile-god, and this we visited at Kaneka's insistence. It is on a bend that juts into the river, and I vow, there must have been a dozen or more of the beasts sunning themselves on the sandy bank. Our two felucca captains picked their beachhead cautiously, leaping ashore with long, hooked harpoons in hand to secure a path to the temple.
Here in the south, the Menekhetan faith has not been Hellenized, and it is augmented by Jebean traffic. I will own, though the temple itself was pleasant, the depictions of Sebek made me shiver. The crocodile-headed man-god is said to have devoured the dismembered pieces of Osiris, the dying-god whom the Hellenes have made one with Serapis, the lord of the dead.
Why they worship the crocodile, I was unsure.
“Lord Sebek has his place, little one,” Kaneka told me, seeing my doubtful expression. “Even so, if the Nahar did not overflow its banks to devour the land, the fields could not be reborn. Besides, we have need of his forbearance.” And so saying, she laid her offering—a clay figurine painted in bright colors—on the altar of Sebek and backed away bowing.
We had to wait an hour for the crocodiles to clear the sandy beach sufficient for our felucca captains to beat a path to the ships, cursing and sweating with anxiety.